The Story’s Answer Part 6

Evolutions artistic plunder,

fort me my due free film

my art

my propaganda

take your chair

and look away

to another means,

ignore self free

of thy fate.

Here is my tale


and risen.










listen fortune,

to do as told

but not done,

never finished

never undone.

Yet free

no novelty

and to be free.


what is in a name?

What is in a word?

Is each word done?


For now as each idea

begins adrift without

the form of language

Peoples manipulation


all power,

no responsibility,

There for no more


abandon power,

abandon authority,

yes dare not abandon

my word of health

and love.

So, This is it,

This is my end,

my Werther moment,

but the opposite,

This is me,

burning the last drop

of my midnight oil,

for the last time.

My last drop,

my last time,

my last gleam, and 

fall, no hour will end

without me ringing every


until I am 

blue in the face.

My voice will sour,

my veins will burst,

My body will collapse.

But I am,

I’m here

and I will,

I will to have will.

But I am lucky,

whether I know it

or believe it

I will always 

be lucky.

What is fair is only


Justice is real

but subject

to luck.

It is no test of


It is what it is,

When did justice become

an abstract?

When did evil earn


Always, when does

power begone power!


Yet still one

presses on,

presses forth through

each page.

I will work.

This is work.

As much as I try

there is no removal

of self,

but back to paradox,

Could it be,

that saying “you cannot remove the self,”

you have removed 

the self.

Is balance real?

Is suffering?

Are my questions 


To put any thought

to its logic is to remove

the romance.

Is there logic to 


to love,

Yes, and no.

Love is its own logic.

It needs no chemical definition,

It does not need 

your cynical scrutiny.

Love is,

Just that.

Love just is,

Love is that inherent

connection to

all and above

and below and


that is.

It is love, it is

the ideas that drive

our body.

Do all or none

have these thoughts.

The interior monologue,

well, to end our

soliloquy is to

end too much.

I need liberty,

but I must earn it

for some reason,

slave here,

bow here,

and apparently I 

will be rewarded.




With my chant 

and chariot

I move on

and move to 

where I need to


I go where need.

My self is only

free out of luck,

and privilege,



all deserve this freedom.

What I have,

my luck should be no ones


What is inherent to humanity,

to personhood,

to only treated as

a privilege by evil.

The midnight oil burns on,

almost like

a miracle,


What happened to 



To Kesey?

i cared in high school,

now I wonder

did these and all

believe there own


Do you not question

the genuine nature

of others.

Or do you march on

with your thoughts

in sync with

nothing but your thoughts.

Your thoughts

mean nothing

if you do nothing with them.

Harsh but true,

if you do nothing,

if you have no thoughts,

your existence will mean nothing.

Nothing when history

writes the pages of our time.


To live a full “productive


and to learn nothing.

Who can accept having

no trace?

All humans,


all living creatures,

deserve to leave their


Sweet angel,

have I left mine?

To carry on as the object,

Is the enjoyment


or will there be a fall.

A fall from a height

no man


or human should see,

you are no more

a professional than

a profit nor

a wiseman

nor a professor,

It is the mother

and grandmother who

had the wisdom that saved me.

The second street regulars

back from F troop and 3

pronged hellish force

Zen is not for marketing

and enlightenment 

does not come at 

$30 a hit.

Thompson was right on that matter,

we live in the age 

of the accidental philosopher,

and the disillusioned poet.

The greats had theirs to 

but it’s all one sided.  

All wrong,

all a product,

and all, quite often,

is never all,

what is all?

It’s a fair question,

with a fair answer,

a rare service to these days,

a rare gift not

to be spoken,

I prefer the mystery,

maybe a little too much,

can you order a strike

when you are not the 


not even a pundit,

and who gives these 

pundits any such


There audience!

It is all yet not all


Who is this audience?

Who takes such matters

so personal?

So trite, yet not

so by consensus.

My end is only a matter

of self consensus.

I endure,

I try,

I pursue,

I seek nothing

I seek everything

I cannot abandon

this I 

this I,

I am

an I

you are a self,

and so are we,

we are,

we are,

Do we need

any other thought

any word,

any rule besides

this one.

We are!

We see!

We feel!

We all do!

How can any forget


Yet they do!

Would a rule exist

if there is no issue?


Would fare!

Harsh fare!

May fare!

Harsh words!

No deeds!

No truth!

No nothing!

Yes I do,

hark Mercutio!


My friends


and artists!

My soul bellows

no service,

and  will leave no

true marks,

no true self!

No more repeated nights of

self imposed withdraw

I mark myself

for my Warhol minute.

Social contact is an

evolutionary need,

Human life,

to some beautiful,

to others expendable,

tortured to all with

ignorance or not.

But real to everyone,

no more selective,

all or nothing is easy,

but empathy is 

a burden.

And so is ego.

Does empathy mean ego?


How could it?

Besides marketing,

but doesn’t the market show

the people’s self

and cater to a human 



yes and no,

paradox no paradox,

self no self,

invade no invasion,

no more control,

none of it wanted,

I will not fail.

We will not fail,

we are not going 

to fall,

I will catch you all

even if you won’t 

catch me.

I am only here as a servant

of the inherent “sprit”

of all humans.

Man does not mean human,

there is much to change,

much to work on,

much to seek,

I will not spurn 

and I will not

fore sake.

I give you my word.

I give you all

my word, my deed,

my act,

no more 20/20 hindsight,

It wastes the


and the moments 

we have,

just because they

don’t speak to 


Doesn’t mean they

don’t look at you,

notice you,

sometimes even love you,

I am destined to live

this life,

not cursed,

never cursed,

no more cursed,

no more tortured

my suffering is 

not my master

it is my guide.

And only at my consent,

consent should never

be a matter of luck.

No matter what distraction,

I spurn every page,

like they mean


They do,

They did,

they don’t,

and no balance.

If you can’t

find what you look


you will always find

something else.


Published by James J Jackson

I'm a poet from California.

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